


Like a Thief

by ThyErasmusBeDelivered (D20Owlbear)



Series: Warlock TV, Novelizations and Fics [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Slow Show - mia_ugly, Warlock (Slow Show)
Genre: Adjacent, It’s alright kid we’re safe, M/M, and that's ok, but we all know it ends ok, definitely not me, erasmus is religious but not Inquisition religious and no one can stop me, everyone i love is in this room, execution swap, it's softe ok, magic is weird yo, mentions of the gods of warlock, rated T for fuckery, season 6 execution episode, sometimes family is a priest a stranger a witch and a child, there's angst and gut punches in there somewhere, they're family and no one can stop me, who the hell knows how it works, world bending probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22790668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/ThyErasmusBeDelivered
Summary: A novelization and mild meta about the Execution Swap episode in season 6.“How did you get in here?” William wraps his hands, still tied at the wrist, around one of the bars caging him in, as if he might be able to reach through and grasp at Erasmus if only he got close enough.“Doesn’t matter,” Erasmus whispers urgently, “We don’t have much time.” He swallows heavily at the thought, “Julia made this, and you’ve got to wear it, I’ll put it on you and it’ll keep you safe from fire, they mean to burn you, William.” His voice cracks again, on the thought that anyone might think William to blame for anything, that he might in any way be an enemy to the people he loves.“Burn me?” William asks, soft and low and filled with a certain sort of endless heartbreak as his face twists in a grimace of pain. The way William asks brings tears to Erasmus’ eyes, the betrayal clear, and the hate there must be in the hearts of those who decide his punishment is obvious
Relationships: Erasmus/William (Warlock - Slow Show)
Series: Warlock TV, Novelizations and Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712140
Comments: 17
Kudos: 46
Collections: Slow Show Metaverse, Warlock fic





	Like a Thief

William is on his knees, hands bound before him in a mockery of prayer, and Erasmus hates himself for the way his breath is knocked from his chest. The priest's eyes are closed and he looks like a stained glass window of an angel bent over in defense to God, a beam of grey morning-light coming from the window that must surely be there but that Erasmus can't see for himself. 

He inches closer and takes care not to make too much noise, though he does purposefully scuff the soles of his shoes over the loose-packed dirt of a floor. William opens his eyes and, thankfully, doesn't startle. Instead, it's worse, his mouth opens in a perfect 'o' of surprise and awe and his eyes widen into something innocent. If Erasmus believed in such things, he would think William looks like an angel. But he doesn't. He rather believes in things like kindness and goodness that are entirely human and bound up into the body of a priest before him, though. He thinks William is the best of them all and if only there were more like him, perhaps then Erasmus wouldn't have to steal him in the breaking dawn like the demon the Inquisition always made his type out to be, anything to save him from the pillar of fire they're going to set him to. 

“Wil– William?” His voice breaks over the defrocked priest’s name as a cold ocean wave breaks on stony shallows, and it shatters William from his thoughts. 

“Erasmus!” William hisses under his breath and stumbles into a standing position in his haste to cross the distance between the two of them, blocking what little light there was in the cell, and once more Erasmus can’t help but believe, for just a moment, everything the Inquisition has tried to pound into people’s heads. If William can exist like this, so ethereal, and with light shining through his white-blond curls like this, then perhaps Erasmus  _ has  _ seen the dual faces of their God.

“How did you get in here?” William wraps his hands, still tied at the wrist, around one of the bars caging him in, as if he might be able to reach through and grasp at Erasmus if only he got close enough. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Erasmus whispers urgently, “We don’t have much time.” He swallows heavily at the thought, “Julia made this, and you’ve got to wear it, I’ll put it on you and it’ll keep you safe from fire, they mean to  _ burn _ you, William.” His voice cracks again, on the thought that anyone might think William to blame for anything, that he might in any way be an  _ enemy _ to the people he loves. 

“Burn me?” William asks, soft and low and filled with a certain sort of endless heartbreak as his face twists in a grimace of pain. The way William asks brings tears to Erasmus’ eyes, the betrayal clear, and the hate there must be in the hearts of those who decide his punishment is obvious. 

“Yes.” Erasmus replies after a moment or two, “Yes, I’m sorry. You’ll need to act as if you were being burnt, though. It will protect you, but Julia says they’ll still see you die. It’s safer that way if they don’t know we exist anymore.” William’s lower lip trembles at that, and it’s everything Erasmus can do to keep himself from peppering the other man’s face with reassuring kisses and soft promises of getting out of this alive and well. Erasmus, as much as he is a man woven of lies and with wefts of silver spun from what drips molten from his tongue, has not been able to lie to William, not for some years now. 

“Let– let me put this on you,” Erasmus pleads, his voice and eyes saying all the things he can’t bring himself to verbalize with words, not in the daylight, not right before the most harrowing thing he’ll ever have to do. Trusting his own heart and Julia’s magics rather than his eyes, that William is not dying in some spectacle in the middle of a town so far from his home. 

William only nods and pries his fingers from the cold, iron bar to turn around. He watches Erasmus over his shoulder, unwilling or unable to truly keep his eyes off the man he never thought he’d see again. The air between them is molasses-heavy and thick with everything left unsaid between them, and while it might be their last chance to do so, it wouldn’t feel right. Not like this. 

Erasmus reaches between the bars, pendant shaped like another serpent, a mirror of the one Erasmus wears to sharpen his eyes to see in the dark, except this one is a burnished copper wrapped in creamy yarn with small tufts of the feather wrapped underneath the yarn peeking through. All in all, it’s an ugly thing William normally wouldn’t be caught wearing, but even if it doesn’t work, having something Julia made him and Erasmus placed on his body would surely give him the courage he needed. It’s something from his family to take with him wherever he is meant to go by the grace of his God, and for this he will be forever grateful. No matter how long his forever is. 

Erasmus’ fingers alight gently on William’s neck, just underneath where the pendant is tied, and William’s mouth falls open in a soft gust of breath punched out of his lungs.

“Erasmus,” William murmurs, turning and leaning against the bars of the cell he’s trapped in, Erasmus’ hand flat on the back of his neck now, and he leans to press his face against the bars too. “Please, once more?” He asks, words trembling as he speaks them. If he were to be rejected now, he doesn’t know what will happen, because suddenly it feels like the most important thing he’ll ever do in his life, he needs this one last kiss, just this one, and he’ll make it through, he’ll make it out. He  _ knows _ this in the same way he  _ knew _ his God heard him when he prayed. 

“Of course, of course.” Erasmus replies back, just as softly, as he leans in and his lips brush over William’s as he repeats once more, “Of course, Neath, anything.” And then they’re kissing, Erasmus is leaned up against the bars as well, and the world spins and it feels like time stops and their breath mingles between their mouths and William isn’t sure when his hands somehow become untied and his own hand reaches up to cup Erasmus’ neck. The kiss breaks and it takes them a few moments to steady themselves against the iron poles keeping them apart before realization dawns on them.

Erasmus is the one inside the cage and William is outside it, their positions have swapped and Erasmus has his hands tied before him with splintering, ill-made rope chafing at his wrists. William backs up a step, hand falling from Erasmus—where Erasmus had laid his hand on William only moments before, their exact positions swapped—and fear in their eyes. Neither says anything for a moment, the air just as heavy as before, though this time there was no sense of anything romantic or erotic between them, now it was only fear and disbelief. 

“William,” Erasmus’ voice breaks again, one more time—perhaps one last time—on William’s name. “Go!” The conman barks the command loudly, “Go!” 

William struck dumb and unable to tell what had happened, turns and runs out, stopping for no one, not even to look at the guards at the front of the door. Sleeping, poisoned, or dead, he isn’t sure, but he can’t bring himself to check. He runs to where he’d been taken, where he’d last seen Julia and Joshua. He had to let them know, had to tell them what happened, perhaps they would know what it was. It felt like magic, maybe, what was he to know of magic? He could do some things, could cast some spells based on what he felt, how deeply he felt it, and– William trips over his own feet and lands on his hands and knees somewhere in the forest he barely recognizes, off the beaten trail.

Did, did  _ he _ do this, swapped out one man to die for another innocent of the crimes? Tears trickle down his face at his own cowardice. “Did I damn you, my beloved?” He whispers aloud, turning to put his back against a thick tree and crying into his hands for a moment before heaving himself up with the help of a hand on the tree and running again. No time to think about it now, he had to find Julia, she’d know what to do. He hoped. He hoped with every part of him.

* * *

Erasmus stumbles to the floor, unknowingly kneeling in the same place William had only minutes before. He’s warmed by the sun and, for once, he hates it.  _ Damn the sun, damn it all the way into Baernan’s hands, and may Wræcca forsake you _ , he thinks uncharitably to himself, even as it climbs higher and eventually, there is a scrape of metal on metal as the door at his back is opened with a key made for the lock. Erasmus doesn’t turn, he will surely be put to death in William’s stead. He knows the Inquisition is looking for a scapegoat now, someone to blame and prove their power over. And now that William is missing with a conman in his place, well, Erasmus knows what he would do in their place.

But they don’t exclaim anything, don’t indicate anything might be wrong, and Erasmus’ nerves catch up to him, make his hands tremble, and the rope around his wrists dig into his flesh even more, leaving him with shards and splinters of roughly woven, straw rope in his wrists. He grits his teeth and says nothing, watching two soldiers of the Inquisition unlock the cell door and advance upon him. He makes no movement either to escape or fight, and frowns as neither guard has any indication of worry as to where William has gone. The soldiers, with their spears in one hand, grasp at Erasmus’ arms just above his elbow and haul him up to standing. 

“William of Neath.” The words ring in Erasmus’ head as he is brought into the too-bright white of the sun climbing into the sky, only just now fully over the horizon. Everything seems too sterile, all the white cobblestones beneath his feet lead up to a pile of sticks and logs. It looks like they had been washed and polished, a bright road leading him to death. He thinks to himself, in a disassociated and apathetic sort of way, that it would be prettier with the flowers he usually saw at the Twin’s festivals. Bright marigolds and lavender and peonies crushed underfoot to stain the impeccable white stones. That would be much nicer.

“You have been accused and convicted of the following—”

* * *

William runs until he cannot anymore, until he finds the still-warm embers of a buried fire hidden underneath dirt in the exact way Erasmus had taught the lot of them to snuff a fire in a hurry. Julia  _ must _ have been through here, recently too if it was still warm, right? She  _ must _ have!

He turns in a circle and the world almost seems to turn with him until someone shouts “Erasmus!” angrily from behind him and he’s hit on the head. Erasmus? What did they mean? Were they looking for Erasmus and thought to steal William first? William’s thoughts flee from his head as his vision turns blurry from the blow and he slumps into arms waiting for his fall.

He’s jostled and jerked up until he’s standing with arms underneath his armpits, moving him forward until he’s half-stumbling and half dragged steadily towards a nearby lake. William begins to struggle, worried about what these strangers might be trying to do, to drown him, until he slowly pieces together what they said.

* * *

Erasmus steps up to the unlit pyre, manhandled all the while by soldiers, his face grim all the while and eyes hard in ways William’s could never be. He can’t help but pray, to whoever might be listening. To the Messengers and God William believes in, to Wræcca and to Nædre and finally to Bærnan as he accepts that a scared but trusting Julia and Joshua are the last he’ll see of them. They believed he could help William, and he did, but at the cost of himself. 

Erasmus barely makes a noise as they untie his hands from in front of him and exchange it for shackles made of craggy iron, the inside of the bands cutting and the furthest thing from smooth since he fell into a patch of Nædre’s Nigellas a few years back when his family had still been new and bonds were still forming. He is jerked out of his musings by the stern voice of the Inquisitor reading out his supposed crimes. Or, rather, William’s. How very interesting, he thinks, to hear it from this side of things.

“Aiding and abetting known fugitives. Willfully and knowingly aiding the growth and spread of The Plague. Coercing men and women of the Inquisition as well as men of the cloth to aid fugitives—”

* * *

Erasmus, Erasmus, they think he’s  _ Erasmus _ ? Why? How?

None of it is making sense, but William is a far cry from who he used to be, and he’s far more willing to take things on faith and figure out what to do with however little information he has at hand. All he knows is these people are not friendly and they think he’s Erasmus.

Except, he also knows that there’s a body of water in the direction they’re going and he knows that Erasmus wouldn’t go into it to bathe before everything went south because of something in it. Something that would only hurt Erasmus, William had seen it before, the man would go into seemingly fine water and nearly immediately his skin would turn red as a sunburn and in a few moments would begin to swell in places, great big welts filled with fluid that, if too close to his face might appear dangerously close to his eyes or cause trouble breathing. 

Erasmus mentioned it being something in certain lakes the caused it, but much more rarely in rivers or moving water, and never in the ocean. They don’t know what causes it, but it has required a salve or two in the past delivered via cut or rubbed into Erasmus’ skin to keep him from succumbing to a particularly bad reaction to the water. Once, notably, the conman had nearly died after drinking water brought to him by Joshua who hadn’t known any better, since they had learned early on before Joshua had been old enough to be aware of it happening. The experience had been rather traumatic for everyone involved and William had to feed Erasmus the potion Julia kept in her bag  _ just in case _ over the course of a rather long night.

But if they are intending to hurt Erasmus, and are dragging him towards the lake, then perhaps they know of this as well? If he doesn’t have the same reaction as Erasmus, or something similar will they know? William feels seconds away from cursing aloud, all the words and phrases he’s learned from Julia and Erasmus.

He darts forward, shaking off the two at his sides, holding him and thinking he’s weaker than he actually is for the moment, and sprints out into the woods. There’s some Nædre’s Nigellas nearby, William has kept an eye out for them ever since Erasmus stumbled into a patch a few years ago while walking backward and attempting to appear suave (and William thinking he was rather cool and suave indeed, though disinclined to show it as he worried about being haunted by a demon in his dreams). But they have the same effects as Erasmus in certain waters, so William will take his chance with the painful rashes in hopes those following him will think it caused by the water and let him be.

They’re not too far behind him, and William dives headlong into a patch of the false nigellas he spotted days before on their way through, yelping at the sharp, initial pain of the nettle-like flowers with their verdant leaves and plucking a handful as quickly as he could, shoving them in his pocket. Where the petals had been crushed underneath his weight, bright red stains like blood is left on his too-pale shirt. He prays to his God, and then entreats Erasmus’ gods for good measure, that this works as he continues only a second or two ahead of his pursuers towards the lake water, ignoring their triumphant shouts behind him, thinking they have successfully routed him. William’s face turns dark with a determined grimace, and he has never been happier that Erasmus isn’t beside him at that moment.

* * *

Erasmus looks up to the sky, it’s only just turned light enough it can’t be called a grey morning anymore, and his thoughts wander as the Inquisitor finishes up the long list. Some of the accusations wholly false, some of them true enough to matter to the Inquisition (the thorn in their side his family has become, Erasmus thinks proudly), and others missing entirely from their telling of the story it seems. But he cannot bring himself to care much, other than that sharp burst of pride beneath his breastbone at the thought of his found family, those that Wræcca has led him to. 

“For these crimes,” the Inquisitor attending this farce of a trial and execution proclaims, “The Inquisition sentences William of Neath, former priest, defrocked in disgrace, to death by immolation. Do you have any last words?”

It’s a formality, but it’s also the first time Erasmus has felt he’s in the moment and connected to the reality of his death around him, considering the necklace that might save him from it is still around William’s neck where he’d put it. His own pendant hangs underneath his shirt, hidden from view. 

“Right, yes,” Erasmus says, “Lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion.” It doesn’t make much sense to him either, but if they’re going to treat him like William, then Erasmus will make sure William’s last words are exactly as the ex-priest is. Good, and kind, and forgiving to a fault. If they’ll make a scapegoat out of William then by the God and gods, Erasmus will make a martyr of him. 

* * *

The fiends who chase him are easily led to the water William knows they’re attempting to herd him to. And poorly, he thinks. If he really were Erasmus, William would have gotten away by now. If, of course, it wasn’t his plan to be caught. But these pursuers didn’t seem to know that, so William wouldn’t show his hand. He leads them to the water and slows, just enough for them to catch him, and he thinks to himself in an odd, out-of-body sort of way that he would never have been able to do this six years ago, when Joshua was still so new in the world and the world hadn’t changed to accommodate him yet.

The wheals are starting to grow itchy on his exposed skin. He can feel them turning color and raising, a truly terrible feeling, and William runs right up to the water praying it’ll be cold enough to soothe his skin when he’s inevitably thrown in.

The two men catch up to him, one tackles him to the ground with a force William can’t help but think is just a tad bit much in that detached way he’s been feeling ever since he left Erasmus. He screws his eyes shut and groans at the physical force of hitting the ground, nose less than a hand's breadth away from the slow, lapping ripples of the lake itself, and tries desperately not to think about what they’re doing to Erasmus in his place. He hopes, just as desperately, if not more so, that Erasmus has escaped and is alright.

* * *

They light the pyre. They light the  _ bloody _ pyre! Erasmus knew it would happen, but he cannot help the flame it sets in his chest, one of wrath and hate for each and every person who has come to gawk at a public execution, at every Inquisitor who dogged their steps, at each guard and soldier and cavalryman who harried them into corners time and time again. He says nothing though, he won’t ruin what he’s said with what people think is William’s mouth, but he does send up a quick prayer to Nædre in hopes that everyone here buys it, that his last words–William’s last words end up  _ meaning something _ . 

The flames start slowly up until it reaches the fluff of kindling made of feathers and chaff and small sticks the Inquisition had set children to gathering—had they called it a game? Was it like the games they taught Joshua, the kinds that kept him quiet and that he learned to sneak around Inquisition agents with? Would Joshua have gathered sticks for a pyre in a game? Surely he would have, they’d done it before for campfires, while Erasmus had told him the stories of his own childhood. Erasmus’ heart dropped into his stomach when the fire’s heat grew so that he sweat underneath his clothing. The heat of it only made the fear-stench grow, and while he kept his eyes on the horizon and his face impassive, he trembled and couldn’t hear anything but the faint clinking of the iron shackles bound around shaking arms over the growing roar of the fire at his feet.

* * *

The man who tackled him wrestles William’s hands behind his back and sits on them, the man’s knees pinning his upper arms to his sides. He tangles his hand in William’s hair and yanks his head back until he is bowed and the other man comes around to look William in the eyes, seething resentment in the set of his jaw.

“Erasmus, bet you never thought we’d catch up, did you?” The man before William pulls a knife, and William swallows heavily. The itching is mostly over his arms, which are covered from easy view, but he’s still frightened it might all be for naught if they are only going to slit his throat anyway. 

“Never thought you were smart enough.” William replies back without missing a beat, surprised at his own audacity, though perhaps it isn’t so surprising after all, as this pretending to be Erasmus has him feeling a certain kind of way. The hand in his hair yanks back harder and William hisses in pain, bending back as far as he can to lessen the pressure on his scalp. 

“Never were good at holding your tongue, eh Erasmus?” The man’s dark eyes are nearly black and he reminds William vaguely of a frog for some reason though he can’t put his finger on why exactly, but he descends with the knife. Rather than making a clean cut along his throat and leaving him to bleed out, he dips it in the lake water and cuts down William’s cheek, just enough to draw blood and a hiss of pain from William. 

Bloody fuck, this is not going to be pleasant.

* * *

It takes a little bit of time for Erasmus to remember the plan. He is so overwhelmed, or perhaps underwhelmed, at the lack of pain the fire is causing, even if the heat is nigh unbearable. Erasmus looks down, hunches his shoulders, and catches a glimpse of copper wrapped with soft twine Julia had made Joshua spin with the drop spindle she keeps in her bag. This once, at least, it was more useful than socks, Erasmus would admit. But only to himself. If Julia heard him he would never hear the end of it. But isn’t that the thing? His heart soars in his chest and he closes his eyes with a small smile on his face, still hidden by the duck of his chin to his chest. He would get to see them again, he would get to see his family, he hadn’t  _ failed _ at the one thing that mattered anymore. 

Then he slumps against the pole he’s bound to, and puts on the show of his life, thanking every deity he can think of for the foresight, the strength, the skill, anything else he pulls on in order to convince everyone watching that this is a gruesome death no one would be able to bear in silence, no matter how hard they tried.

Perhaps, hopefully, their stomachs would turn when roasting pork next. Spitefully, Erasmus hopes so.

* * *

William is in the water, both men have one of his arms in their hold and the one with his hand in William’s hair hasn’t released his grip. Instead, he dunks William beneath the surface of the water, causing him to sputter and gasp for air as he writhes, trying his best to get a hold of the Nædre’s Nigellas in his pocket. If he can get to them then this can be over. 

The mantra repeats in his head.  _ Get the nigella, pretend to die, end this. Get the nigella, pretend to die, end this. Get the nigella, pretend to die, end this.  _

He doesn't know how long this goes on for, time stops and simultaneously seems like an endless plane before him. But finally, he manages to wrench a hand free while he’s underwater and pushes himself to the opposite side, bowling over the man with a hand in his hair directly into the water. He pulls the nettle-like flowers out of his pocket, sodden and difficult to move quickly underwater, and shoves them in his mouth. It hurts to chew it, and he knows the sores caused will be painful very soon, but it’s this or be drowned and die at the hands of these men. 

Any temporary pain is worth it, as long as he gets to see his family again. And if it means getting these two off of Erasmus’ trail possibly permanently? Then all the more worth it. 

* * *

The fire dies down and the copper pendant is hot over Erasmus’ chest, he thinks he may have a brand burnt into him in the shape of the serpent just over his sternum, where William puts his hand to feel his heartbeat when he thinks Erasmus is asleep. Erasmus is unsure how he feels about the thought of a brand on him like that, from something like this, but he lived through it, and the pyre is no more, and it seems that everyone has left him here. Perhaps they see him as a pile of bones and nothing more, perhaps there is nothing at all left of him, of William. He doesn’t know if he cares.

The detachment is back, everything feels soft around the edges and he feels as if he is moving through water, resistance meeting every motion. He steps gingerly down from the smoldering pile of charred embers and ash and he thinks to himself in that giddy way some men do when faced with shocking circumstances,  _ is this what Nædre felt like as they jumped from Eadig’s hearth? _ Surely not, but it was a funny thought.

With shackles still around his wrists and white flecks of ash in his hair and turned to mud with his sweat over his clothes and face, Erasmus slips into the nearby woods with nary a sound left behind him. He has long since learned how to silence bells and shackles and ropes attached to him when walking.

* * *

William makes a show of allowing his mouth to bleed, pushing the froth created by his quick breathing mixing with blood and saliva-dyed-red by the petals of the faux nigella, as he bursts through the surface of the lake. He is a mess, William thinks to himself, covered in cuts with rents in his clothing, and bleeding and frothing at the mouth. He has made the right choice though, the two men exchange looks and simply topple William over with a hand at his chest. The touch almost burns and he can feel the pendant Erasmus had placed on his neck earlier burn and itch in ways the rest of his body does too from the stinging flowers.

They leave, and William holds his breath to stay underwater as best he can, give them no reason to think he’s made it out of this alive, give them no clue as to what they have or haven’t done to him. 

Ten minutes later, and quite a few careful, gulping breaths of air to sustain him, and William has scratched at his arms until they are raw and his nails leave their own bloody marks over rash-red skin. At least the water is cool and soothing to a degree, though he can’t help but think also that the fire might have been nicer than this if that pendant worked the way it ought to have.

He pulls himself from the water, sopping and red and itchy but  _ alive _ and isn’t that glorious‽ At first he crawls out of the water, catching his breath, before shoving himself to his feet with hands on his knees and mutters to himself.

“Rather rude, could have at least left me a bath towel.” William giggles to himself, high on survival and also because he thinks his jokes are funny, especially imagining Erasmus saying such a thing. He pulls himself together, focuses on everything but how itchy he is, and tromps back through the woods to the campsite he had found in an attempt to locate Julia and Joshua. He hopes, quite a lot, that Erasmus will be there to meet him too, that he had escaped.

* * *

The world at large is quiet, more than it has any right to be if one were to ask either William or Erasmus, and through the eyes of those unlinked by mirrored pendants, it looks quite different than either of the two might say at the moment.

William is kneeling in the clearing with the campfire Julia and Joshua had left, hands behind his back, bound with iron shackles. His head whips up and he moves to his feet with an ease unlike him at the sound of a twig cracking. 

“Priest!” He cries, lighting up from within, a bright smile on his lips as Erasmus enters his view, sopping wet and covered in scratches with blood trailing from his lips and looking far worse for wear than William who is only covered in grey soot and streaks of sweat.

“William, are you alright? Bloody fuck, Neath, what’ve you done to yourself‽” William asks roughly, striding up to Erasmus with a confidence in his steps rarely seen, and nearly backs Erasmus up against a tree in his enthusiasm.

Erasmus has his hands up and a sheepish smile on his face, his back against a tree. 

“I haven’t done anything, my dear, friends of yours came to visit, I suppose. They mistook me for you.”

William stands up straighter and frowns gravely, “The Inquisition,” he begins slowly, “They thought I was  _ you _ … How very, very interesting.”

“Do– do you think it happened, when we kissed?” Erasmus starts hesitantly, frowning as well, but in thought and much less intensive than the one so out of place on William’s face.

“You’re probably right. World went a bit wonky, but I thought that might have just been the possibility of imminent death.” William shoots back with an eyebrow cocked.

Erasmus sighs. “Mayhaps. We might never know, but do you think it’s worn off…” he trails off, a slight blush rising on his cheeks, “Or do you think we’d need to do it again?”

William smirks wickedly and leans in, leans up to Erasmus, who is still against the tree. “You don’t say, now I think  _ that’s _ a great idea.”

They’re barely seconds away from a kiss, no matter how slowly they might move, simply breathing in lungfuls of each other, uncaring how unkempt the other is and reveling in the closeness of their bodies. Their lips nearly touch when Erasmus jerks away and covers his mouth with his hands.

“Wait!” He cries, eyes wide and worried, “You’ll get hurt!”

William groans and presses his forehead against the tree where Erasmus used to be before cracking one eye open and asking, “How, Neath, praytell how a  _ kiss _ would hurt me.” He is, wholly unimpressed. “If you didn’t want to kiss me just tell me, for Deorc’s sake.”

“No, no, nothing like that, my beloved,” William chokes as Erasmus says it so casually, as if they hadn’t been neatly sidestepping the whole feelings thing for nearly two years, but they almost lost William to the Inquisition witch hunt, so he supposes it can be forgiven, “Just that I’m covered in Nædre’s Nigella and that lake water you react poorly too.”

William pauses to take that all in, and then laughs so hard and deep he has to lean against the tree to hold himself up.

“Fuck it, Nea– William, I don’t care, kiss me anyway.” He breathes the words like a prayer, and Erasmus’ cheeks flush redder than before, his mouth opens and he croaks like a man who had never spoken before, and nods, rushing over in only a few steps to take William in his arms and kiss him fiercely, all the love in them poured into each other until they were made greater than the sum of their parts and their cups runneth over with it.

The world turns and twists again, and nothing seems to change, except that William is covered in small cuts and bloodied at the mouth, and Erasmus’s hands are chained behind his back, and the world sees them in truth as they have always been. Fools in love. But that is alright, they’re more than happy like that.

“William! Erasmus!” Julia cries from the opposite direction the two men had entered from earlier. “You’re safe! You’re– what happened to you?” She stops just before reaching them, eyeing William’s arms around Erasmus with a small smile before stumbling forward, Joshua having pulled her towards the two with a cry of relief and joy at seeing the four altogether again. 

The boy wraps his arms around all their legs as best he can, burying his face between the three of them, and sobs.

“Oh, shh, shh, my dear,” William begins, though Erasmus kneels as best he can with his hands behind his back, sliding his shoulder down William’s side for balance, and places his chin atop Joshua’s head.

“It’s alright, kid, _we’re safe_.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re interested in the Gods of Warlock, both of the inquisition and the Old God(s) Erasmus mentioned, go visit [the Wiki](https://warlock-tv.fandom.com/wiki/Gods_of_Warlock) so thoughtfully put together by [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf)!
> 
> And a special thanks to [wonderingpiper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderingpiper) for betaing this mess.
> 
> Come find me in a couple of places!
> 
> Twitter: <https://twitter.com/Great_Ass_aFire>  
> Tumblr: <https://d20owlbear.tumblr.com/>
> 
> All my graphics/photomanips are there plus you can find updates on anything if you send me an ask or message! I also take graphic/banner/emoji requests and writing prompts/requests.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kindling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23313601) by [WilliamsHeresy (MovesLikeBucky)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/WilliamsHeresy)




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